


Oh Memories, Where'd You Go?

by dearest_dahlia



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Established Relationship, First Kiss That Isn't Really a First Kiss, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Post 5x11, Wedding (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:27:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22058524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearest_dahlia/pseuds/dearest_dahlia
Summary: The morning after Oswald's confession Ed returns to the manor acting like nothing out of the ordinary has happened. When he confronts Ed about it, he learns that he's mysteriously lost years of his memory, leaving Ed to fill in the gaps and reveal some big surprises.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 12
Kudos: 117





	Oh Memories, Where'd You Go?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chierei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chierei/gifts).



> I got Chierei as my secret friend for our gift exchange! They asked for an amnesia fic, winter wedding, or soulmate au (or any combo of the three) and this what I came up
> 
> So, happy holidays, I hope you enjoy your gift :)

Oswald eats alone at breakfast. He had countless times during his life. This time, however, is different. Instead of his usual apathy towards the familiar situation, an unbearable feeling of emptiness crawls in and gnaws at him. He spares a glance at Edward's empty chair — his absence, it wounds him.

The split second of confusion before Ed threw his hands up in defense is burned into Oswald's mind. He can't stomach another bite. Pushing his omelet away he turns his attention to the coffee, steam swirling above the mug. The taste never really appealed to him but he drinks it anyway.

Anything following Oswald’s failed confession is hazy. If his splitting headache is any indication of how the night ended, it’s safe to assume he got into the whiskey stash and drank himself nearly to death. As for the blurriness in his right eye? Perhaps he had fallen on his way to bed, he couldn’t care less. The doctor is only a phone call away if the issue persists. Oswald only cares about mending his broken heart at the moment. Silently, he wishes his doctor could fix that, too.

Absentmindedly, Oswald pushes his food around his plate, Olga had asked if he wanted the dish taken away but he waved her off. Muttering some Russian he didn’t understand she disappeared to somewhere else in the mansion. He continues shoving the egg around his plate. 

"Oswald?” Ed’s voice echoes through the hallway. The fork falls from Oswald’s hand with a metallic clink, he sits straight up in his chair.

When Edward steps through the entryway to dining with a soft smile on his face it takes every ounce of self-control Oswald has not to run to him, to throw himself at Ed and hold him until the end of time. Even though it was the only thing his heart desires, he proceeds with caution. He’s learned the hard way that anything could potentially set Ed off and being the next Tom Doughtery isn’t on Oswald’s itinerary. Ed carries blueprints in one hand and a god-awful bowler hat in the other, his suit is a vibrant green. It’s a little garish for Oswald’s taste but it’s a look that screams Edward Nygma. Eclectic fashion taste aside, Oswald is happy to see Ed, it means that there’s a chance he didn’t completely ruin their friendship.

“How are you feeling?” Edward asks, rounding the table to his usual seat, he lets the hat and paperwork fall onto the table as he sits beside Oswald.

Not completely sure how to answer, Oswald raises his head to look at Ed, trying his best to focus on the features of his face through his bangs. There is no contempt, no anger, no lingering shock. The other man looks at him with only genuine concern in his eyes. Oswald takes a long sip of his lukewarm coffee, he rehearses several responses in his head but none of them sound right, so he settles on, "I suppose I’m fine.”

“You worried me last night,” Ed says. Oswald, as caught off guard as he is, only blinks slowly when Ed leans over to brush his hair out of his eyes. He hopes Ed isn’t paying attention to the blush on his cheeks.

“We need to talk about that,” Oswald begins, “Edward, I really must apologize for putting you on the spot like that. It was inconsiderate of me, considering the circumstances of these past few days. I have clearly overstepped some boundaries.” He looks away from Ed, refusing to meet his eyes. Under the table, he wrings his hands.

Losing Isabella had struck Edward as a great tragedy. In the subsequent days following the accident, he barely got out of bed. On the occasion that he did, he didn't make it any farther than the armchair in the parlor. Although it pained Oswald to see him so grief-stricken, the moping got old. He was relieved when Ed resolved to say goodbye to the woman and put an end to his mourning. Everything swiftly went downhill when Ed rushed in later that afternoon going on about how Isabella was murdered. Convinced Butch wanted revenge on him for the Redhood Gang debacle he kidnapped Butch and Tabitha to make them pay for taking the love of his life from him. Just when things had returned to normal at the manor, Ed sprung his resignation on Oswald because he wanted to be "partners," which Oswald had misunderstood. And that's when he left, with no explanation, leaving Oswald in the parlor, heart torn to shreds.

“Oswald, what are you talking about? You were sick.” Edward says, nonchalantly pouring himself some tea.

Oswald looks at him in disbelief, “I was not sick, Edward.” He raises his voice as he stands from his chair to tower over Ed.

Ed stays seated, his expression unchanging, “Are you sure you still don't have a fever? It was pretty high yesterday afternoon. I can call the doctor.” 

“No!” Oswald shouts. “I don’t need a doctor. As hard as it may be to accept, I love you, Edward Nygma — ” He slams his hand on the table in frustration — “I know you do not feel the same, you made it quite clear you're in love with that oblivious little cretin, however, we are not going to act like it never happened. Just because you don’t want to hear it, you will not reduce this to a fever-induced illusion.”

Silence fills the dining room. It was the first time Oswald had truly seen Ed at a loss for words. His mouth falls open into a surprised ‘O’ and he nearly drops his teacup on the table, Oswald watches as drops of the liquid slosh over the porcelain and stain the table cloth. The longer he stays quiet, the more uneasy Oswald becomes. Ed, after a long moment, takes a deep breath and stands. Oswald expects the worst; a gunshot or a knife to the gut. Instead, Ed's voice cuts gently through the suffocating tension filling the air between them.

"Oswald, that was four years ago." He presses the back of his hand to Oswald's forehead. "I need to call the doctor."

Numbness is the only thing Oswald feels as he sits on the couch. The doctor tries speaking to him but he can’t bring himself to actually listen. Fighting with Edward had been his biggest concern an hour prior, now, he’s trying to comprehend that Gotham is a recovering warzone; that he was recovering from a major injury himself; that he’d lost four years of his life overnight. The doctor hands him a mirror. Oswald is nauseated at the sight before him. The tissue surrounding his eye is scarred up and his pupil, as the doctor explained, is permanently dilated due to the muscle being damaged. He runs a finger over the rigid skin and it takes everything he has to keep his breakfast down. The damaged skin reminds him of his disfigured leg.

“As you know,” the doctor stands and begin collecting his equipment, “There’s no cure for amnesia. Your memory may come back, it may not. Since your fever has broken the best thing we can do is try to prevent it from coming back.”

“That’s all?” Ed asks. “I’m afraid so, Mr. Nygma.” The doctor turns to Oswald, “You need to rest as much as you can and stay hydrated. Over the counter medication should the fever return or your eye begins bothering you, hopefully, this isn't the beginning of an infection.” Ed follows him out of the room, speaking to him a hushed voice, most likely hounding the man with questions.

The mirror is still in his hands and against his better judgment, he takes another look. Looking back at him is a man he doesn’t recognize. A frustrated shout falls from his lips. In one clumsy motion, he pushes himself off of the couch and sends the mirror flying across the room. It hits the wall with a thud. Oswald watches the glass shatter across the hardwood floor as he falls back onto the cushions, wincing. The exertion makes his head hurt. He buries his head in his hands and hopes the dark will alleviate some of the discomfort. Oswald doesn’t bother looking up when he hears footsteps, nor when he feels the couch dip beside him. He doesn’t want to see the sad look he knows is on Ed’s face, there were few things Oswald hated more than pity.

"He said I should go over the past few years with you, starting with the last thing that you remember."

Oswald sighs. "I was also told to avoid stress."

"I believe he was referring to physical stress rather than emotional stress, Oswald."

"Oh, Ed, _so_ smart." Oswald lifts his head to glare at Ed, who laughs softly at him.

"What's so funny?" "Last time you said that to me I had you cornered in a safe house, I was trying to kill you," Ed says. It makes Oswald sick to think that Ed actually tried to kill him, after everything they've been through.

"Was it because I killed Isabella?" Oswald asked. There was no need to tiptoe around the subject, Ed knew about his crime and showed no lasting hostility or ill intent towards him. “It was part of a chain of events that transpired from the Isabella incident.” Ed stands from his seat on the couch and turns to extend his hand to Oswald, “If we're going to get into this, we should make ourselves comfortable upstairs.” Oswald lets himself be pulled up to his feet, it’s second nature to place his hand in the crook of Ed’s elbow as he stands.

Meandering through the halls of the mansion, the two men made idle conversation. The halls were lined with paintings and photographs he doesn’t recognize, little touches of Ed were also revealed themselves as he paid close attention to his surroundings; a pair of his gloves left on a hallway dresser, crumbled sticky notes forgotten on the floor of the library, two framed certificates of sanity hung side by side. One photograph, in particular, stops him in his tracks. From what he could make out of the background it was taken in City Hall.

“Barbara has a baby?” Oswald wrinkles his nose in disgust. Barbara Kean isn’t the maternal type, she’s cutthroat and only concerned about herself. In the photograph, though, she looks like a completely different woman than the one Oswald knows. She stands next to a baby carriage, one hand holding it steady and the other resting firmly on the shoulder of Jim Gordon. “Oh God, is it Jim’s baby?”

Ed nods, “He’s married to Lee, though. The baby thing happened beforehand. ”

Oswald wants to comment on Jim’s horrible track record with relationships but opts for something more relevant, “When was this taken?”

“About four months ago. After reunification was announced they had a ceremony honoring those who protected Gotham and Gordon was named commissioner.” Ed explains. Oswald scoffs at the image of Jim being the high and mighty police commissioner of Gotham City, with a child, no less. He shakes his head and turns away from the photo so he can continue down the hall.

At the end of their journey through the manors many hallways, they find themselves in Oswald’s bedroom, propped up against the headboard with a myriad at photos, news articles, stacks of paperwork, and one small photo album scattered in front of them. Oswald had watched Ed move around the bedroom in a whirlwind to locate everything, sifting through drawers and pulling things from under the bed like he had a hundred times. He didn’t know where to begin. Out of everything he learned from being Gotham’s king, none of it prepared him for having to relearn his life.

“Anything more shocking than Jim Gordon having a baby you’d like to warn me about before we pick my life apart?” Oswald asks, nudging Ed humorously, “I didn’t get married or anything, did I?”

“That depends. Do you find you find the possibility of you getting married or Jim being your best man more shocking?” Oswald waits for Ed to crack a grin or double over in that maniac, widemouthed laughter he’d grown to love in their time together. It never comes. Ed just looks down at him, his face as serious as ever.

“I find both scenarios absolutely preposterous. Now isn’t the time to be making such jokes. The fact that you would even dare to suggest this sort of thing is beyond me, Edward. I guess you’ve also acquired a sense of humor that I’ve forgotten about. Why in the world would I get married?” Oswald can feel the tips of his ears burning with anger.

There was no hesitation in Ed’s reply. “What’s worthless to one, but priceless to two?”

“Love.”

Oswald throws his hands up in frustration. “We’ve been over this. I fail to see what this has to do with your accusations.”

“I love you, Oswald.”

“What?” Oswald sputters.

“I love you,” Ed pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “I love you and we’re married.”

Oswald’s immediate reaction is to think that this is a joke, some kind of long con to get back at him for taking Isabella away. Ed was no stranger to long, complicated schemes against his enemies, and if anyone could pull this amnesia stunt off, it was him. Despite the dangerous situations he'd in Oswald can't help but think that this could be the most dangerous of them all, so he keeps his guard up and tries to keep his voice steady. If Ed was trying to play him than this would be a perfect time to strike. 

“Are you serious?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.” Oswald watches for any indication that Ed was being untruthful but he finds nothing.

“That should’ve been the first thing you told me!” Oswald pushes himself out of bed and throws his hands up. His leg aches horribly, but he paces the room anyway if he sits still he liable to combust. “I was freaking out about you hating me and you put this off. You’re insufferable, Edward, you know that, right? You are insufferable.” Letting out a frustrated groan he turns to look at Ed. The other man sits with legs crisscrossed, his bottom lip is drawn in-between his teeth and he looks at Oswald with what could only be described as puppy-dog eyes.

“To be fair, it must be nicer to hear that we’re married than that I tried to kill you.” Ed swallows nervously. "Multiple times."

“Multiple times?”

“To be fair, you escaped the first.”

“What happened the second time?”

“You didn’t stay dead.”

“And that’s why you cornered me in the safe house?” Ed nods.

“I assume I got away that time, considering I'm still alive?” Oswald crosses his arms.

Ed nods again, “And then you tried to kill me.”

Oswald shakes his head, carefully contemplating his next words. They could keep recounting the times that Ed tried to kill him or the time he supposedly tried to kill Ed. It didn’t feel very productive, though. The foundation of their relationship was crime and murderer, beginning with their messy execution of that Leonard fellow back when Oswald preferred dying in the streets to Ed’s company. Of course, Oswald isn’t surprised to hear that things eventually went sideways and they went after each other.

“I love you, but you’re quite terrible at murder for a serial killer.” He finally says. And he did. Love Ed, that is. He’d spent the morning trying to confess that to the other man and being able to say it and know Ed wasn’t going anywhere made the weight of the world rolls off of Oswald’s shoulder.

“I love you, too, even though you insult my abilities,” Ed replies. Oswald’s heart swells at the words. “Now, come here, I think you’ll like these photos.” Ed pats the bed beside him. Oswald takes a seat, pressed up close against Ed, their shoulders resting firmly together.

A small wooden box, the top carved intricately with flowers, is placed on his lap and Ed smiles. As soon as the lid was off, Oswald feels the tears welling up in the corners of his eyes, his hand flies up to cover his mouth. In a stack of polaroids the first was of him and Edward, they were laughing, Ed’s arm wrapped around his waist and Oswald’s resting against his lapels. Immediately, he knows.

“Our wedding,” He says breathlessly, he almost can’t believe it. He continues to thumb through the photos in awe, each capturing a moment where they looked even more in love than the last. There weren’t many and most were candid shots, Oswald can’t complain, though, they’re perfect. In most of them, the lighting wasn’t the greatest and they were kind of grainy, causing him to have trouble deciphering whether Ed’s suit was black or just a very muted green.

Another photo shows them outside in what looked like the manor’s garden, in what Oswald’s assumes is their actual ceremony, they're standing across from each other, hands held between them, their cheeks both flushed red. The ground, he notices is white with snow. A winter wedding has always been something he’d wanted — not that he ever truly believed he would ever actually get married. And, Oswald be damned, Jim is standing directly at his left. He supposes it was only fitting for Jim to be his best man, he had been there since the beginning after all. Harvey stands behind them, acting as an officiant.

Ed plucks the photo from Oswald’s shaking fingers, “We had everything set up inside and ready to go, but as soon as you saw it was snowing you demanded that we move it outside.” Oswald laughs quietly and Ed grabs another photo. Taken subsequently after the prior, this one shows the two with their lips pressed together in a kiss, Ed’s hand are cupping Oswald’s cheeks. Oswald’s hands are resting at Ed’s waist. It then registers in Oswald’s brain that he can kiss Ed. He can kiss Ed anytime he wants, as much as he wants. All that time thinking the Ed could never be his, all those nights replaying what happened at Barbara’s party the day Butch tried killing him. Surreal is the only word that describes the situation. _Anything for you_ , Ed had whispered, his voice low and hoarse, and in the end, he kept his promise.

Leaning up, Oswald presses his lips lightly to Ed’s and quickly pulls away,“To help jog my memory.”

He knows there’s no reason for him to blush, but it’s technically the first kiss with Ed that he remembers. To think that he’d kissed Edward hundreds, perhaps thousands, of times and remembers none of them is a tragedy in his eyes. He’ll just have to start making up for lost time. He leans in for another kiss, Ed is happy to comply.

“The doctor did say resuming your normal routine was a good idea.”

“And this is our normal routine?”

“It’s a good chunk of our normal routine, you were always quite the sentimentalist.”

“Guilty,” Oswald he rolls his eyes and shrugs, mirroring the moment he presented Ed with his framed Arkham certificate, it was a relief that he could remember some of their important moments. For the first time that day, he’s perfectly content. He’s almost happy he doesn’t remember the warzone Ed had described earlier, had he not wanted to know how and why he lost his empire once again, he probably wouldn’t care.

“So, my dear Edward, what happened between your multiple attempts on my life and my kingdom becoming the Thunderdome?”

Ed lets out a dry laugh, “So much. A lot more people coming back from the dead than you would think."

Oswald, feeling much more relaxed with his situation, reaches for a newspaper and looks at the article with an amused smirk and reads aloud, “Cobblepot unveils centerpiece of new Iceberg Lounge, puts Nygma on ice. Let’s start here.”

“Get comfortable, it’s a long story.” Oswald returns his head to his place on Ed’s shoulder, it fits perfectly. Ed flips the newspaper open and begins to read the rest of the story out loud, pausing to add his own commentary ( _Personally, I would’ve invested in better security_ ) and correct statements he deems incorrect ( _You did not freeze me because I had brain damage_ ). They spent hours retracing Oswald’s life, his victories, his downfalls, and everything in between. He latches on to every detail, trying his hardest to remember the events Ed describes to him. When he finds himself tucked under Ed’s arm and feels a kiss being pressed to his head he accepts that even if his memory never returned, it would be alright. Moments like this were Ed worth more than anything he had forgotten.


End file.
